Eye of the Storm
by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: Ten year old Harry Potter finds a dusty fob watch in the attic, and has no idea how this will change his life and destiny forever.
1. Inheritance

**AN: **So, I've been posting this at my AO3 account (see my profile for the link) where I post all my fic now, but since most of the people who read my HP stuff are on ffnet, I decided to post this here, too.

* * *

**Eye of the Storm**

**Chapter One **

Ten year old Harry Potter was sorting through the things in the attic when he found it.

Dusty, grimy, and very tired after a long day of tidying and cleaning the attic by himself, Harry almost overlooked the object sitting on a stack of old books, except that a clumsy swipe of his broom sent the stack of books flying, and, with it, the old fob watch that was sitting on top.

Harry crouched down to look at the old watch curiously. He'd never seen a fob watch before, and he had no idea what it was; only that it was metal, and old, and with strange circular markings on the front. Turning it around in his hands, he eyed what seemed to be a button on the top.

For a moment the wary instincts drummed into him by the Dursleys told him not to touch, in case he did something he shouldn't and got into trouble: but his natural curiosity won out, and Harry pressed the metal knob.

The watch cover sprang open, and golden light flooded out.

And Harry Potter, remarkable yet entirely human wizard that he would have been, ceased to exist.

In his place was someone who shouldn't exist, created from nothing but stored data and the living descendant of the long-dead being whose data had been stored, a being of fire and ice, like the storm in the heart of the sun, ancient and forever, who burned at the centre of time and could see the turn of the universe.

The Last of the Time Lords, born anew.

* * *

Harry snapped to wakefulness without any period of confusion or disorientation in-between: one moment he was unconscious, the next wide awake and perfectly alert.

He pressed a hand unconsciously to where twinned hearts beat a doubt-beat inside his chest, eyes wide and wondering. He could feel the Earth turning beneath his feet, rotating around the sun, the warp and weft of the timelines around him, bright and beautiful. He took a deep breath, inhaling so many different scents along with it, his senses so march sharper and more discerning than a human's.

Closing his eyes, Harry tried to sort out the confusion in his mind. He was Harry – and he wasn't. He was the Doctor – yet he wasn't. Two sets of memories warred in his brain, the elder set threatening to drown out the younger with their sheer volume and intensity.

All the same, Harry soon pieced together what had happened. The Doctor had hidden himself with the aid of a Chameleon Arch, become human… had, in fact, become the human who would one day be Petunia Dursley's father. The Doctor had lived out his entire life as a human, and died as a human, while everything that made him a Time Lord had stayed locked away in the watch. Harry could deduce what had happened from there: the watch had been put aside and left unopened, passed on from parent to child and ended up in Petunia's attic, where the Doctor's unknowing grandson had eventually opened it. Ordinarily, someone other than the Doctor opening the watch would have had no effect: but the Doctor was dead, and in his absence Harry's DNA was close enough to the Doctor's for the repository device to accept him as the rightful recipient of everything it contained. So here Harry was, a brand-new Time Lord, with all the memories of the Doctor himself.

"Instant Time Lord, just add fob watch," Harry muttered, sitting up with a slight groan. The attic was almost dark, and Harry wondered how long he'd been lying unconscious on the floor. The back of his head throbbed a little, no doubt from when he'd hit the floor.

The weird thing was, in spite of having all the Doctor's memories, Harry still felt completely like himself: a himself who was a Time Lord, which was a very different thing from himself as a human, but himself all the same.

"Not completely the sum of our memories, I suppose," he murmured, and bent to pick up the fob watch where it lay on the floor, now nothing more than an interestingly-decorated piece of metal.

Harry wondered what he should do next. He could stay with the Dursleys, he supposed, although he didn't like that idea very much: they were likely to continue on mistreating him, and Harry's newly Time Lord nature would be difficult to hide. Probably the Dursleys would end up treating him even worse than before.

Harry clicked his tongue thoughtfully as he considered the Dursleys attitude towards him: they'd always insisted that he was strange in some way, trying to 'beat the freakishness of him,' whatever that meant. As a human child Harry had never really questioned this, but now he couldn't help but wonder: what 'freakishness,' exactly, were they trying to beat out of him? Whatever it was, his parents had shared it, because the Dursleys had talked about how he'd inherited it from them.

And now he came to think of it… a pair of 'freakish' people (although Harry still had no idea what that meant) both dying at the same time when Harry was only a baby, leaving him with a very oddly-shaped scar? To Harry's brand-new Time Lord mind, that smacked of something not quite right. If Harry's parents really had simply died in a car crash that Harry had somehow survived, he was going to turn out to be very, very surprised.

Harry realised that his fingernails were biting painfully into his palm, and unclenched his fist.

It was no good asking Petunia and Vernon, he knew, they wouldn't tell him anything and would likely try to punish him for asking, and they'd never believe the truth of who Harry now was. So that was out. Harry's best bet was probably getting away from Privet Drive and back to the TARDIS, and taking things from there.

It was too late to go now, though: people would wonder about a ten year old boy wandering around by himself, at this time of night. He'd have to wait until tomorrow. He could steal enough money from Petunia for the bus fare into London, and then, as long as the TARDIS was still where the Doctor had left her… well, everything would work out fine, Harry was sure of it.

He glanced at the watch in his right hand, and bit his lip. If Petunia caught him with it there'd be hell to pay. It was probably best to leave the watch up here until tomorrow, and then duck up into the attic to get it before he left.

That sounded like a plan, he thought.

The next day, when Petunia left the house to go shopping, instead of completing his long list of chores, Harry implemented his escape plan.

He'd been vaguely surprised to discover that his appearance had changed slightly, since the watch had turned him into a Time Lord. Harry no longer required glasses, and without them, the eyes that gazed back at him in the mirror were an impossibly bright green, clear and piercing, with a weight and solemnity to them that no ten year old should have possessed. And Harry had always been pale and skinny, but now his unhealthy pallor had been replaced by ivory skin tones, and his distinctly underfed look was gone. Harry had stared at his hair, which had gone from being an uncontrollable mess to taking on a look that was more interestingly windswept, and decided that he approved of the changes.

Dressed in the most acceptable clothes he owned – which wasn't saying much; thank you ever so much, Dursleys – and with a pocketful of change in one pocket and his fob watch in the other, Harry set out to catch the bus to London.

The bus driver looked a little dubious, but Harry had bounced on his toes and spun an excited story about going to visit his cousin who was going to meet him at the bus stop and take him on a trip to the museum, and the dubious look had changed to a faintly indulgent one, and a few minutes later Harry was happily seated near the back of the bus. He spent the trip peering out the windows at everything that went past, and once he reached his stop made a point of politely thanking the bus driver as he left the bus.

The Doctor – the previous Doctor, as Harry was beginning to think of him – had left his TARDIS in a quiet alley near the square. It had been decades since then, and a lot could have happened in that time, and Harry felt his hearts beating furiously in a mix of excitement, and anticipation, and dread. As he approached the alley, he took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing nerves. Then, not sure exactly how to feel, he stepped forward into the mouth of the alley.

And there she was.

Harry felt his face burst into an enormous grin at the sight of the TARDIS sitting innocuously at the end of the alley. She was covered in decades of accumulated dirt and she'd been graffiti'd more than once, but Harry felt giddy laughter spilling out of him at the familiar blue boxy shape. He sprinted forwards, reaching out to run his hands delightedly over the TARDIS' surface.

"Oh, hello," he breathed. "Hello. It's so very lovely to meet you, really it is. I don't suppose you'll let me in?"

There was a moment or so where Harry received no response, but he waited, and a moment later something stirred to life inside his head.

Harry felt his breath catch, and closed his eyes as the TARDIS initiated a telepathic link. He felt her sifting through his mind, and offered up his inherited memories willingly for her to see. There was pain from the TARDIS as she understood what had happened, and resignation: but then Harry was engulfed by a feeling of warmth and acceptance, and one of the TARDIS doors cracked open.

Grinning in utter joy, Harry dropped a kiss on the TARDIS door and whispered a thank-you, pulling a face at the taste of dirt and grime on his lips, and stepped into the TARDIS interior.

Inside everything was still, and strangely solemn. There was no noise but for Harry's quiet footsteps, and the lights had been dimmed, and although everything was still dust-free and in the same state it had been left in, Harry still got the distinct impression of a place that had been abandoned for a very long time.

He approached the centre console respectfully, and as his eyes ran over the various buttons and levers and gauges he understood what each of them was for, the Doctor's memories as familiar and easy to access as his own.

After a moment Harry patted the console gently, and said,

"I know it's not the same, and I'm sorry he's gone, but how about we get you back into proper working order?"

* * *

Harry spent the next twenty-eight hours going over the TARDIS' basic systems and ensuring that all her essential functions were working properly. He had the memories of doing it thousands of times before, but nonetheless he found himself darting around in excitement and chattering away as he, Harry, expertly examined and corrected the TARDIS' mechanisms.

The TARDIS seemed to enjoy the chatter, and Harry got a general sense of indulgence as he took things apart and adjusted other things and whooped in delight as he discovered stuff that the Doctor had forgotten about ages ago. Which was fair enough, Harry agreed to himself, because all the accumulated memories of the Doctor or not, biologically he was still a small Time Lord boy, and ridiculously young. Time Lords didn't come to adulthood until they were a few centuries old, so at ten years old Harry was exceedingly young indeed. So it was alright, if the TARDIS saw him as a very small child, because technically speaking, that was exactly what he was.

Frowning in thought, Harry let go of the wires he had been fiddling with and took the sonic screwdriver out of his mouth so he could speak aloud.

"Do you think it's alright for me to call myself the Doctor?" he asked the TARDIS. "I mean, obviously I'm not–" and he recited the Doctor's ridiculously complicated birth name, – "but I have his memories, you know, all of them, and I can _see_ time, and feel it, and everything," Harry gestured expansively to indicate the universe at large, "_everything _tells me that I'm going to be slipping right back into the hole he left behind in the cosmos. Because the universe still needs the Doctor, it isn't done with him yet – and while he might have escaped that by using the Chameleon Arch, very cunning of him, it doesn't change the fact that the world still _needs _the Doctor."

Harry sat back on his heels and tried to feel through the response that the TARDIS was sending him. After a moment, he nodded.

"That's what I thought," he agreed, and went back to work.

By the time he was done with his fit of TARDIS maintenance, Harry was a little tired, but very happy. The TARDIS was in reasonable shape, to be going on with, which meant that Harry could deal with other things. And the first thing on his list, now that he had a chance to do it, was to find something to _wear_.

Humans had a saying about how the clothes maketh the man, which Harry didn't think was _exactly_ accurate, but it was certainly true that the clothes _reflected _the man. Harry was all brand-new and brilliant, and what he needed was to get out of Dudley's old cast-offs and find something that was _him._

Humming cheerfully, Harry made his way to the wardrobe room, and began the vital task of picking out an appropriate outfit.

When Harry next emerged from the TARDIS, he looked markedly different, and without the glasses and as long as no one caught sight of his distinctive scar, it was unlikely that anyone would connect him to Harry Potter of number four, Privet Drive. His old hand-me-down clothing was gone, and he was instead dressed in a stylishly-cut black tuxedo jacket along with a black vest and trousers to match, a white dress shirt, a neat emerald-green cravat a couple of shades duller than his eyes, and a pair of black Doc Martens boots so highly polished that they shone. Overall Harry felt quite proud of his new look. Sure, black might have been more the Master's signature thing, but he _was _a new Doctor, after all. It made sense for him to do things a little bit differently from his predecessor.

Feeling inordinately pleased with himself, Harry ruffled his newly-cut hair, and set out to find answers to the mystery presented by his dead parents.


	2. Hogwarts

**Eye of the Storm**

**Chapter Two **

It was the morning of September seventh, 1991, as the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry began filtering into the Great Hall for breakfast.

Several days earlier a new school year had begun, and Hogwarts newest first years had been sorted into their respective houses. Only one student hadn't been sorted: the famous Harry Potter, also known as the Boy Who Lived, who had vanished without a trace a year earlier. The mystery of Harry Potter's disappearance was still alive and well, and had been revived by this year's Sorting Ceremony. Harry Potter should have been one of this year's first year students, and there had still been many people who had held out hope that come September first, Harry Potter would show up to be sorted. But September first had come and gone, with no sign of Harry Potter, and the wizarding world were being forced to confront the fact that their boy wonder might never been seen or heard from again.

The student body was still buzzing with speculation on the matter, but right now most people were more concerned with their breakfast than discussing Harry Potter's possible fate.

Breakfast was well underway when the doors to the Entrance Hall swung open with a tremendous _bang. _

An instant hush fell, as everyone turned in their seats to see what had caused the noise.

There was a kid striding confidently into the Great Hall, dressed in what looked like a muggle suit. His boots thudded firmly as he walked, and there was a smart black fedora perched on his head. Despite his young age the boy walked with a confidence and grace beyond his years, and he approached the head table without hesitation.

The eyes of the entire student body followed him.

As he neared the head table something seemed to occur to him, and he stopped and glanced around, looking suddenly rueful.

"Ah. It isn't September first, is it?"

"It is September seventh," Professor McGonagall replied, a little frostily.

"Oh." The boy smiled bashfully. "That explains it." He seemed to consider the situation for a moment, before giving a philosophic shrug. "Ah well, close enough."

He tipped his hat back a little, letting a lot of unruly hair escape, and surveyed the teachers with bright eyes.

"Does that mean I don't get sorted?" He sounded honestly curious.

It was Professor Dumbledore who answered, leaning forward to survey the boy thoughtfully over the top of his spectacles.

"Might I ask who you are?"

The boy didn't seem at all put-off by the piercing scrutiny, and merely straightened, and gave the headmaster a heart-stopping grin, his amazing grin eyes sparkling knowingly.

"I'm the Doctor," he said with insouciance, and the grin broadened. "But you, sir, may call me Harry Potter."

The entire hall erupted into chaos.

* * *

Harry sat in the headmaster's office and watched in some amusement as the teachers argued back and forth. They seemed to have almost forgotten his presence, too busy quarrelling with each other.

With a slight shrug, Harry leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs, glancing around the room. It wasn't the first time he'd been at Hogwarts, but from a linear point of view the last time he had been here was a very long time ago, and a surprising number of things had changed.

Harry's eyes were drawn to a particular painting very high up the opposite wall, almost by the ceiling. As Harry watched, one of the previous Doctor's later regenerations strolled into the frame and peered down at him with interest. Harry grinned and winked up at him, and received a conspirational smile in reply.

To be honest, Harry had avoided coming here as a student for as long as he could manage it. Time Lords aged far more slowly than humans, even as children, but Harry had put things off almost too long. He looked more about twelve or thirteen than eleven, he knew, but hopefully no one would think anything of it.

No, Harry hadn't wanted to come here, but it was his last stop on the journey of things Harry Potter _must_ do, so it couldn't be helped. Once he'd finished here, Harry Potter's destiny would be complete, and he could simply be the Doctor, and his responsibilities as a Time Lord would be all that mattered. Still, he supposed it would be nice to see more of the world his parents had come from, and learn a little more about them. For all that Harry was a Time Lord, his beginnings were _here_, in this absurd and impossible world of magic and mayhem.

Harry's thoughts returned to his current surroundings as Albus Dumbledore politely but firmly shepherded all the teachers out of his office, and returned to sit behind his desk. He steepled his fingers, and gazed at Harry without speaking a word.

Nothing loth, Harry stared curiously back. He wasn't in the least intimidated by Dumbledore's stare: he was, after all, a Time Lord, with over a thousand years' worth of memories crammed easily into his noggin. And Albus Dumbledore was a rather fascinating specimen of a wizard.

After a minute or so of this – perhaps realising that Harry wasn't ever going to be discomfited by it – Dumbledore broke the silence.

"You claim to be Harry Potter."

"Yup," Harry agreed happily, and decided that now was a good time to remove his hat. He put it carefully down on his lap, and ran his fingers through his hair to tidy it a little, incidentally exposing the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. "The one and only."

"That is curious indeed," said Dumbledore, "for this is not the first time I have met you, Doctor."

At his unexpected words Harry blinked in surprise, and then beamed at the aged wizard.

"Ooh, really?" he asked excitedly. "Do tell! Was it me-me, or a different me?" He bounced forward to sit at the edge of his chair. "I mean–"

Dumbledore held up a hand to halt the excited torrent of words, but his eyes were twinkling slightly. Harry obediently went silent.

"You looked very like you do now," the wizard said, "however you were unmistakeably an adult, not a child."

"Oh! Okay then." Harry threw himself back in the chair, lounging awkwardly, and ruffled his hair consideringly. "Well, I suppose that makes things a little easier. You know _what_ I am, I assume?"

"I believe that the explanation you once gave me involved the title 'Lord of Time," Dumbledore said dryly.

Harry couldn't help but grin.

"Right! That's me. And I'm the Doctor. I've always been the Doctor, but the Doctor hasn't always been me." He decided that the position he was currently in was uncomfortable, and sat up straight again. "You see, my people had a way of, _temporarily,_ storing their essence in a repository device, so that they could take on the form of another species – human, for example. Everything that made them a Time Lord – their genetic material, their memories, etcetera etcetera – was stored in this device, while they themselves became a human, with no knowledge of who or what they really were. You following? Good. Now, I say that this was a temporary thing, except that you know the universe, sometimes things go as planned, which meant that occasionally a Time Lord would live out their human lives and die, still a human, with their Time Lord self still in storage in the repository device. Which is where this story gets complicated."

Harry met Dumbledore's eyes seriously.

"You see, there was a Time Lord – the only one of his kind left, as it happens – who used such a repository device, and he was one of those Time Lords who died without ever changing back. This particular Time Lord married, had children and died, while the device that held his Time Lord self was passed onto his eldest daughter. The device was disguised, so that no one would know what it really was; ignorant of its true nature, the Time Lord's daughter put the device in the attic, and there it sat, undiscovered, for many years. Then the eldest daughter found herself the unwilling guardian of her sister's orphaned child."

Harry's lips twitched faintly as Dumbledore's eyes sharpened in intense interest.

"The boy lived with her for nine years, and knew no kindness in that time: he was treated like an indentured servant, doing most of the housework and chores. One day, when he was ten years old, he was sent up to the attic, and there he found the repository device, which was disguised as an old-fashioned fob watch. He opened it. Because the original owner of the device was dead, and the boy was his direct descendant, everything that was inside the repository device was given to him. He came round a few hours later to find that he'd been transformed into a Time Lord, and had inherited all of his grandfather's Time Lord memories." Harry shrugged. "Which is how I came to be the Doctor."

Dumbledore stared at Harry, at a loss for words.

"Remarkable," he managed at last.

"Anyway," Harry stood, leaving his hat on the chair, and began to walk idly around Dumbledore's office, "at this point I didn't know anything about my parents, or that they were wizards. But I knew that there was some sort of mystery surrounding them – the Dursleys, subtlety, not the best of friends – and I resolved to find out what it was. I uncovered the truth of who they really were, and what had happened to them, but _that_ only alerted me to a greater mystery: the existence of the so-called Lord Voldemort."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but Harry hurried on before he could.

"And boy, you wouldn't believe what I found! The idea of splitting your own soul, and being mad enough to do it repeatedly? Nauseating. Anyway, it turns out that Harry Potter's destiny was to fight through Voldemort's second rise, blah blah blah, defeat him for good, blah blah, but I'm the Doctor, so I thought I'd take a few shortcuts. I've got one soul anchor left to deal with, plus an angry undead wraith, and then Flight-of-Death is gone forever. To be honest I don't actually want an education here, not even sure if I'm a wizard anymore really, but going undercover as my human self seemed like the best way to get in and deal with everyone's least favourite immortal dark lord. So."

Harry cleared his throat, and stared at Dumbledore expectantly.

"Any questions?"

* * *

As it turned out, Professor Dumbledore _did _have questions. He and Harry had a long, detailed, very dark talk about Mr Tom Riddle, which was actually quite depressing, if informative. It appeared that Harry's plans conveniently dovetailed into Dumbledore's own; Dumbledore's plans, they eventually decided, would now be the lure, giving Harry the opportunity to deal with Voldemort once and for all.

"I'm glad we've sorted that out," Harry declared. He eyed Dumbledore's desk. Traditionally, the headmaster's desk drawers held not only paperwork and other administrative materials, but also one or two things that might, had they been more generally known, have been cause for disapproval. "I don't suppose you have any whiskey in there, do you?"

Dumbledore gave him a stern look over the top of his spectacles.

"This may surprise you, Doctor, but despite my eccentricities I am not in the habit of supplying alcohol to children."

"I'm thirty-five years old," Harry grumbled half-heartedly, "if I were still human that would well and truly be old enough to drink. Besides, I metabolise alcohol perfectly. It's the ginger beer I have to watch out for."

Dumbledore twinkled at him.

"That may be so, but I refuse to provide alcohol to a minor of any species, no matter what their age."

"Spoilsport," said Harry, but without any heat. He glanced around, to where the Sorting Hat sat on top of a tall cabinet. "So, I believe this is a good time for me to be sorted, don't you?"

The headmaster hesitated, giving Harry a measuring look.

"Given that the Hat was designed to assess _human _minds," Dumbledore said delicately, "I am not entirely certain that it would be a good idea."

Harry grimaced with mild dissatisfaction, but couldn't deny that the elderly wizard had a point.

"Yeah, no, probably not. Oh well, reckless, stupidly brave, always charging into danger – let's just call me a Gryffindor, shall we?" He clapped his hands together and grinned. "Now then, what do you propose we do next?"

"I think," Dumbledore said mildly, "that it would be best to call in Professor McGonagall as your new head of house, so that she can make all the necessary arrangements. Perhaps a change of clothing is in order, however."

"Right." Harry looked down at his smart suit. "I'd better nip back to the TARDIS and change, hadn't I?"

* * *

Hermione Granger was sitting by herself in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, working on her homework, when she was suddenly aware that someone had just sat down next to her.

Hermione looked up, and found herself staring into almost unnervingly-vivid green eyes.

"Hello," said the boy whose eyes they were. "I saw you sitting all the way over here by yourself, and thought you might like some company. I'm Harry Potter." The smile he sent her was wide and friendly.

For a long moment Hermione just stared at him, before realising that she was being rude and stammering out her own name in return.

"Excellent!" Harry Potter said cheerfully. "It's nice to meet you, Hermione. I don't really know anyone yet, and to be honest the whole hero-worship thing's starting to get on my nerves. _You_, however, look like a perfectly intelligent and sensible person."

Hermione found it a little difficult to believe that the _Boy Who Lived_ apparently wanted to befriend the biggest bookworm in the room.

"Really?" she demanded skeptically. "That's why you approached me?"

Harry's smile gentled.

"Well, that and the fact that you were sitting here all alone," he confided. "Companionship is important, don't you think?" His expression brightened. "Besides, doesn't all this just drive you _mad? _I'm a big believer in science, me, but this–" his gesture encompassed everything around them "–seems to be pretty much the antithesis of science! _Magic. _Now come on, you're muggleborn, tell me you don't think this world's completely bonkers."

Hermione blinked.

"How did you know I was muggleborn?"

Harry just winked, and touched the pen Hermione still held in one hand.

"How many purebloods do you think use ballpoint pens?"

Hermione flushed at the obviousness of his answer.

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

"It's alright, most people don't notice that sort of thing," Harry told her understandingly. "But it's the sort of thing the observant look for, to pick out muggleborns from the purebloods." He snorted. "_Purebloods. _Honestly, it makes them sound like someone's prize-winning dogs."

Hermione found a giggle startled out of her before she could stop herself. Harry grinned mischievously, looking pleased with himself.

"You're a very strange boy," Hermione told him.

"They don't get much stranger than me," Harry agreed readily. He beamed at her. "Does this mean we're friends?"

Hermione froze.

"F-friends?" she repeated, stunned.

"Yeah, because to be honest, I've never had a friend before, I was always too clever, everyone else used to pick on me," Harry continued, with an embarrassed smile, completely oblivious.

In an impulsive outburst of emotion Hermione flung her arms around him. _No one _had ever wanted to be her friend before.

"I would love to be your friend," Hermione managed, past the lump in her throat. When she glanced up at him, Harry looked confused by the hug, but undeniably pleased.

"Oh. Good." He patted Hermione on the back, rather awkwardly, and she pulled back, blushing as she realised that she had just hugged a boy she'd only just met. "Well, why don't you tell me what it's been like at Hogwarts for you so far? I sort of got here a bit late, and I have no idea what to expect."

Smiling shyly, Hermione began to recount her experiences from the last few days, and Harry leaned forward to listen.


	3. Halloween

**Eye of the Storm**

**Chapter Three **

Almost two months later, and Harry felt that he was settling into Hogwarts life quite nicely, thank you very much.

It had come as a surprise to him to discover that, despite his doubts, he was still quite capable of performing magic. Dumbledore had insisted on taking him off to Ollivander's for a wand, and Harry ended up with a phoenix-feather-and-holly wand that prompted the wandmaker to give a portentous speech, which _might _have impressed Harry had he actually been an eleven year old human.

"Oh, _destiny_," Harry muttered dismissively instead, swishing his wand and accidentally setting fire to the nearest cabinet. (A bit trigger-happy, his wand. He'd have to watch out for that.)

To tell the truth, while the revelation that he was still a wizard had delighted Harry, it also worried him. The Time Lords had been gods, once, and look how _that _had turned out. Harry wasn't sure that any Time Lord should have the power to wield magic, not even him.

Not that it _was _magic, as such, the way that the wizards believed it was – rather, it was the psychokinetic manipulation of a particular type of energy, that was all. Still, the fact that a relatively large number of life forms native to Earth had evolved to use this energy in one way or another was something that the Doctor had always found impressive, whether that Doctor was Harry, or his grandfather.

Within his first couple of weeks at Hogwarts Harry had succeeded in tracking down the soul-anchor that he knew Voldemort had hidden somewhere inside the school, and the artefact was now securely locked inside his school trunk. Harry had considered taking it back to the TARDIS and destroying it right away, but considering Voldemort's current proximity, it was possible that the dark lord might sense the destruction of his Horcrux. For this reason, Harry planned to destroy the final soul-anchor only after Voldemort's possession of Quirrell had been taken care of. To do that, Harry had to wait until Voldemort was deep beneath the school, inside the trap that Dumbledore had set up, where Harry could deal with the wraith and his host without risking any collateral damage. It had taken a good few years to track down and destroy all the other Horcruxes, and Harry wasn't going to let his chance to rid the world of Voldemort for good slip through his fingers because he was too impatient.

His plot to remove Riddle from existence aside, Harry was enjoying himself. The teachers all had him marked down as the irritatingly bright student who asked all the awkward questions, but that was alright: it was their job, after all, and they could use the mental exercise. Snape in particular seemed to loathe Harry. He' tried several times to invade Harry's mind using magic, but as a member of a naturally telepathic species Harry deflected Snape's clumsy attempts at mental penetration with laughable ease. So far, this had only increased Snape's ire.

The best part about being a student at Hogwarts, though, was undoubtedly Harry's friendship with Hermione.

Harry had meant what he'd said to her, about never having had a friend before: the Doctor might have had many friends across his numerous regenerations, and Harry had inherited them, but it wasn't the same as having a friend of his own, to do age-appropriate friend-things with. Harry had met a few of the previous Doctor's old acquaintances and companions since becoming a Time Lord, but when he was with them he had to keep up the pretence of being a millennium-old adult, and most of them had spent his time with them looking to him to save the world somehow. While Harry understood that it was necessary – he was the Doctor now; there was no one else who could do what he did – it was a lot of pressure to put on the shoulders of someone who was barely-pubescent.

With Hermione, Harry could just act like a kid – a genius, oddball kid, certainly, but a _kid_. No one expected him to save them all, or called him in to deal with trouble: he didn't spent half his time running for his life. Sometimes this made things at Hogwarts a little boring, true, but on the other hand Harry was still learning a lot of new things and he had never really had the opportunity to socialise with other children before. It was _brilliant._

Harry was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of someone clearing their throat.

"Focus, Mr Potter," Professor Flitwick chided, and Harry smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, Professor," he apologised, and applied himself to levitating his feather. He'd already managed it once, but evidently the professor wanted everyone to be practiced in the spell. On the other side of him Hermione was attempting to instruct Ron Weasley on how to correctly perform the levitation charm. It didn't seem to be going very well.

Harry glanced at his watch, even though he didn't need to. The lesson was almost over. After this they had one more class, and then the rest of the afternoon free, until the Halloween feast. Everyone else seemed to be looking forward to it, but not Harry. Everyone else might have forgotten that today was the anniversary of his parent's deaths, but he hadn't, and the reminder didn't exactly leave him in a celebratory mood.

"You do it then, if you're so clever!" Harry heard Ron snap loudly, and glanced over to see the boy red-faced with annoyance and frustration, while Hermione looked exasperated. Giving the Weasley boy a pointed look, she intoned clearly, "_wingardium leviosa!_" and perfectly levitated her feather.

"Oh, well done, Miss Granger!" Flitwick beamed. "You and Mr Potter seem to be setting a record for this class, I must say!"

Hermione looked a little less frazzled at the praise, and Harry nudged her and sent her a quick grin.

At the end of class, however, as he and Hermione were packing up their books, Harry heard Ron say loudly,

"It's no wonder no one can stand her! She's a nightmare, honestly."

Harry glanced quickly at Hermione, just in time to see her face crumple with hurt and rejection.

"Hermione–" he started urgently, but Hermione grabbed her book-bag and fled before he could stop her.

His mouth firming into an angry line, Harry slung his own bag over his shoulder and strode over to where Ron was still complaining to his friends. The other boys all fell silent and stared awkwardly at Harry. Ron was the last to realise that something was wrong, and turned to find himself pinned by Harry's disapproving glare.

"That was charming of you, Weasley, really," said Harry, and he didn't have to make an effort to inject scorn into his otherwise calm tones. "She spends the entire lesson trying to help you, and you act like a complete berk just because you can't manage it on your own. Jealous, much? Grow up."

With one last look of disgust, Harry stalked off, without giving the other boy a chance to respond.

Parvati and Lavender were walking together further up the hallway, and Harry lengthened his stride to catch up with them.

"Ladies!" he called, giving them a charming smile when they stopped to look at him. "Sorry to interrupt, but have you seen Hermione?"

Lavender and Parvati exchanged glances, and Harry groaned inwardly.

"We saw her head down that way," Parvati said, tipping her head towards the nearest corridors. "She was crying all over the place. We asked what was wrong, but she just rushed past us without saying anything."

"She's probably gone to the loo," Lavender put in. "There's one a couple hallways away, but you can't go in there, you're a _boy._"

"Really? Thank you very much," Harry said hastily, and hurried away.

Unfortunately, if the girl's loo was indeed Hermione's destination, she had reached it before Harry, because there was no sign of her.

"Hermione?" Harry called into the entrance, but there was no reply.

Harry ruffled his hair in thought, frowning. If he didn't go now he was going to be late for his next class, but really, next to the fact that Hermione was upset, what did a little skiving off matter? There was also the fact that it was a girl's toilet, and as Lavender had pointed out, boys weren't supposed to go in there, but then, Harry had never really been one for rules.

His mind made up, Harry walked into the girl's toilets. Several of the cubicles were occupied, but loud sobbing was coming from only one of them.

With a sigh, Harry walked over, and leant against the cubicle door.

"Hermione?"

The sobs cut themselves off with a choked gasp, but started up again a moment later.

"Hermione, it's me," Harry said through the door. "Please come out. Look, Weasley's a berk, and we're going to be late for class."

"So go without me," Hermione's teary voice responded, in between sobs.

"When you're upset? Don't be daft," Harry said sternly. "You're my friend. Come on, everyone could tell he only said what he did because he has inadequacy issues, and he couldn't stand the fact he's in class with someone as brilliant as you."

One of the other toilets flushed, and an upper-year girl emerged, giving Harry a dry look. He shrugged back, and kept talking to Hermione.

"Please, Hermione, I mean it. You're fantastic, and I'm lucky to have a friend like you, honestly, Weasley doesn't know what he's talking about. Please, just open this door, because it's killing me to know that you're locked away on the other side and I can't do anything to help you."

There was a loud sniff, and a moment later the door opened to reveal Hermione. She looked a mess, with red puffy eyes and tear-tracks all down her face but Harry barely noticed.

"Oh, Hermione," he murmured, and pulled her into a hug. "Don't let them get to you. They're a bunch of ignorant apes. Barely evolved simians."

There was a faint, watery giggle, and Harry hugged her tighter.

"There we go, that's better." He pulled back a little to look into her face, smiling gently.

Hermione sniffed, and felt around in her pocket until she pulled out a handkerchief, and blew her nose defiantly.

Harry dropped his arms and took a small step back, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, looking distressed. "I've made you late as well, all because I was stupid."

"You, stupid? Never," Harry scolded. "Besides, fully-sentient being with agency of my own, here – I'm quite capable of making my own decisions, thank you very much, and the decision _I_ made was that a friend in trouble was far more important than a single class. Besides, if anyone's to blame, it's Weasley, for being such a giant prat."

Hermione giggled a little, wiping at her eyes.

"Well, if we're going to skip class and talk about feelings, it goes both ways, you know. You've been grumpy all day. What's wrong?"

Harry felt the teasing smile on his face fade away, and glanced down at his shoes.

"It's the anniversary of my parent's death," he said softly, and heard Hermione give a shocked gasp.

"Oh, Harry." She sounded appalled at herself. "I'm so sorry, I didn't even _think_–"

He waved away her guilt.

"It's fine, Hermione. To everyone else it's just history; I'm not surprised people have forgotten."

"Yes, but I'm your _friend_," Hermione insisted. "I should have remembered." She hugged him in apology.

Harry accepted it gladly. Hermione was the first person he could remember ever hugging him, and he still wasn't used to the feeling, but he always appreciated it when she chose to hug him.

"It's not that I miss them, really," Harry said, after a moment. "Too young when they died, for that. It's more… more that I feel their absence, the… empty space that they left in my life, I guess. I've never had any parental figures that I remember. I've always looked after myself."

Hermione looked mildly distraught.

"I'm so sorry," she said again. Harry gave her a reassuring pat.

"It's alright," he said, and glanced at his watch. "Huh, class will be almost over, by now. I tell you what, how about we wait until after it's finished, and then the two of us can sit in that alcove in the library and eat sweets?"

Hermione snorted.

"You're not supposed to eat in the library," she told him, but she was smiling, so Harry just smiled unabashedly back.

"That's not a no," he pointed out, cajolingly.

"Oh, _fine_, then," Hermione capitulated, and tried to look disapproving.

* * *

Of course, because it was that kind of day, the worst was still to come.

Harry had barely served himself some potatoes when Quirrell burst into the Great Hall, his turban askew and a look of terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, leaned against the table and gasped out,

"Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

Then, as far as anyone else could tell, he slid to the floor in a dead faint.

As the hall burst into pandemonium, Harry rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Really?" he asked no one in particular. "This had to happen tonight?"

Several purple firecrackers exploded from the end of Dumbledore's wand, and the hall quieted a little.

As the headmaster gave the order for the prefects to evacuate the students to their dormitories, Harry pressed his fingers together in thought. Hmm, he had a dilemma.

"Follow Quirrell, or stop the troll?" he wondered aloud. Hermione's fingers instantly dug into his arm.

"_Harry!_" she hissed. "You can't–"

Harry winced, and carefully removed her fingers.

"It's not a random troll, this is more complicated than you think," he said, as the male Gryffindor prefect yelled for everyone to follow him. "I can't explain here, and there isn't enough time anyway."

"Harry–"

"_Trust me,_" he stressed, and patting her arm got to his feet, joining the rest of the first years as they followed the Gryffindor prefect. As soon as they were out of the Great Hall, however, Harry swiftly slipped down the nearest side corridor.

Hermione, of course, followed him.

"Harry, what's going on?" she demanded in a fierce whisper as the two of them slipped away.

For an instant Harry considered what to tell her. Then, with a mental shrug, he decided he might as well go for the truth.

"The troll is a diversion," he told her in a low voice. "Quirrell is being possessed by Voldemort, and the troll is to distract everyone while he heads down to a secure area under the castle where Dumbledore has stored a powerful artefact that might allow him to resurrect himself."

"_What?!_"

"Shush!" Harry waved at her to be quiet as a foul stench met his nose, and froze, listening.

In the silence, Harry heard it quite clearly: a low grunting, and the shuffling thud of giant, heavy footsteps.

Harry closed his eyes, pained.

"Right, that solves the question of which problem I should be dealing with: _troll_. Lovely." He turned to Hermione. "Hermione–"

"Oh no you don't, Harry Potter! If you're going to be facing down a troll, you're _not_ going to be stupid enough to do it alone!"

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. Definite companion material. He didn't have time to dissuade her.

"Alright then, but be very careful, and for Rassilon's sake, do what I tell you to, and if I say to run, then _run!_"

Without waiting for Hermione to answer, Harry reached out to take her hand, and began to make his way down the corridor. He felt Hermione's hand close on his tightly, and knew from the way she was breathing and the way she was clutching his hand in her own that she was completely terrified.

Harry edged forward, and peered around the curve of the hallway. He could make out the troll up ahead, a tall, grey shape with a tiny bald head, short, thick legs, and a heavy wooden club dragging behind it.

Harry didn't have many options here, and he didn't like any of them, because on the one hand: sentient being; on the other, _troll in a school. _This could only end in disaster. He cursed Quirrell mentally for endangering the students this way.

Harry raised his wand and stared at it for a second. The teachers all had this idea that Harry was some kind of prodigy, the way he could do a spell perfectly on the first try and understood all the theory without difficulty, but the truth was simple: one, he had the brain and knowledge of a Time Lord, and two, being both magical and telepathic meant that his connection to his wand was much stronger than usual, with the result that using magic came easily to him.

Trolls were somewhat resistant to magic, but it was quite possible that if Harry threw as much magic behind the spell as possible, he might be able to knock the troll unconscious.

Harry turned to Hermione, a wide, manic grin spreading over his face.

"Fair warning: I'm about to do something stupid and very Gryffindorish."

Letting go of her hand, he ran forwards until the troll was only a few feet away, raised his wand, and shouted,

"_Stupefy!_"

A brilliant beam of light shot forward and struck the troll.

For a long, tense moment it looked as though nothing was going to happen: then the troll swayed, and began to fall.

All twelve feet of it.

"_Run!_" Harry bellowed, already sprinting back in Hermione's direction. She was frozen, staring in wide-eyed horror at the falling troll, and as he ran past Harry grabbed her hand and dragged her along behind him until they were out of range.

The troll hit the floor with a reverberating crash, and was still.

Grinning, Harry turned to Hermione, his eyes sparkling.

"Wasn't that – _ow!_"

"_Harry Potter!_" Hermione shrieked, pummelling him with her fists, "if you ever do something so _stupid _–"

Harry tried to fend her off, and he was trying not to giggle, he really was, it was just that Hermione looked so _irate – _

"_Ahem._"

Harry and Hermione slowly turned to see a contingent of teachers standing behind them: McGonagall, Snape, and – Harry's eyes flicked quickly to the last member of the trio, feeling relief – Quirrell.

"What were you thinking of?" Professor McGonagall demanded, sounding just as furious as Hermione. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Hermione opened her mouth, and shut it again. Snape eyed the two of them darkly. Quirrell looked shaky, and eyed the unconscious troll anxiously.

Harry straightened, and grinned like a lunatic. In for a penny, in for a pound – if he was going to get in trouble for this, he might as well make it count.

"I was fighting a _troll!_" he declared proudly, beaming.

Hermione buried her face in her hands.


	4. Welcome to the TARDIS

**AN: **So, this is the last of the chapters I already I have written. Any future chapters will probably be posted to AO3 before they're posted here, FYI.

* * *

**Eye of the Storm**

**Chapter Four **

Harry ended up getting detention for the next month, lost fifty points for Gryffindor, and had a rather uncomfortable meeting with a coldly furious Dumbledore.

The headmaster was not at all happy that Harry had endangered another first year student by taking them along to fight a troll, and as soon as Hermione and the teachers were gone he made his opinion of Harry's actions known. Harry's protests that he hadn't _asked_ Hermione to follow him fell on deaf ears, as did his argument that they weren't in all that much danger, really, because Harry had it all under control. Finally, Harry told Dumbledore solemnly that he always did his utmost not to risk any lives other than his own.

Instead of looking reassured by this, or even more angry – it could have gone either way, really – Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes, suddenly looking terribly old.

"That does not make me feel any better about the situation, Doctor." When Harry looked blank, Dumbledore gave him a sad look. "My dear boy, the fact that you, a child, risk your life on a regular basis concerns me," Dumbledore clarified.

Harry blinked. That honestly hadn't occurred to him.

Dumbledore seemed to read as much in Harry's face, because he looked even more sorrowful than before.

Harry decided that it was time to nip that in the bud before the headmaster got any ideas about having responsibility over him.

"Right, that's enough of that, Albus Dumbledore," he said bracingly. "I might be a child, but I'm not a human one, and that makes a lot more difference than you'd think. You'd be surprised at what Time Lords were entrusted with, at my age. Besides, needs must." He held his hands up in surrender. "But look, I'll be more careful not to involve any other students, the next time I find myself unexpectedly confronted by a mountain troll in a school corridor, will that do?"

Apparently it would, because Dumbledore seemed more resigned than anything, after that – possibly even reluctantly amused – which only left Hermione to deal with.

Harry arrived back at the common room to find Hermione sitting near the fire waiting for him, her arms crossed, still livid about their close encounter with the troll.

"_Explain_," she ordered, which didn't seem unfair, under the circumstances.

"Ah," said Harry, and then, "not here. Come on, let's sneak out."

Hermione's posture became even stiffer than it already was.

"It's after _curfew!_ Haven't you already gotten us in enough trouble for one–"

"_Hermione_." Harry's commanding tone cut through her angry one like a knife. "Look, I promised you an explanation, but we can't have one _here_, not where anyone could overhear. I swear, I'm not going to get us into any more trouble for tonight, I know it was frightening and I'm sorry and you've already trusted me more than enough, but please, just trust me that little bit more and come with me so that I can explain what's going on."

There was a long moment, as Hermione thought it over.

"_Fine,_" she agreed grudgingly. "But Harry, if we get caught…"

Harry gave her a crooked, enigmatic smile.

"We won't."

The two of them slipped through the portrait hole when no one was looking, and as soon as the door closed, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak that Dumbledore had given him out of his pocket, and threw it over the both of them.

"It's an invisibility cloak," Harry whispered, forestalling Hermione's demand for explanation. He took her hand, and together they set off through the school.

Hermione looked both worried and suspicious when they left the castle, but Harry continued walking without hesitation, down close to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where he'd parked the TARDIS.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked.

"Almost there," Harry said, instead of answering her question. Together they approached the big blue box, and Harry let go of Hermione's hand to fish around in his pocket for the TARDIS key. Pulling the cloak off them both, Harry stuck it back in his pocket before unlocking the TARDIS doors and stepping inside.

The current console room theme always reminded Harry a little of the previous Doctor's ninth regeneration: the architectural struts were reminiscent of coral, and the lighting in the room was diffused, but otherwise the room looked quite different. It was multi-level, with stairs leading away to upper and lower floors, and everything was done in cool dark tones except for the console itself, which was sleekly black and for once looked like the piece of advanced technology it was. The ceiling was high and vaulted, and the Seal of Rassilon – the traditional symbol of the Time Lords – was embossed above the doorway that led into the rest of the TARDIS. It was a somewhat forbidding and intimidating room, Harry had to admit, but also an impressive one.

Hermione followed Harry inside, and looked around with wide eyes.

"Is – does this use one of those expansion charms I read about?" she asked, with a look of consternation. "But all this muggle equipment – it shouldn't work, inside a magically-created sub-space!"

Harry smiled wryly, and stuck his hands in his pockets as he watched Hermione explore the room.

"That's because it's not muggle, Hermione. And it's not magical, either. It's alien."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione snorted, rejecting Harry's words automatically. Harry smiled to himself, and stepped closer to her.

"Hermione, do you know any medical diagnostic spells?"

Hermione looked up from her inspection of the TARDIS console, frowning.

"Well, yes. It seemed like a good idea. It's not an overly complex one, obviously, it only gives the most basic information, but I thought it would do until I could learn the more difficult ones."

Harry stepped closer.

"And I suppose you know what the baseline medical data is for your average human being?"

"Of course. Harry, why are you asking me this?"

Harry stopped a couple of feet away, and smiled tiredly.

"Cast your diagnostic spell on me, Hermione, and tell me what the results are."

Hermione was looking deeply suspicious, but cast the spell. A moment later she blinked, and cast the spell again. She looked at the results, paled, and slowly turned to stare at Harry with something that wasn't quite fear, not yet.

Harry didn't move, but just stood there with his hands still in his pockets, watching her calmly.

"This can't be right," said Hermione, half to herself.

"It is," Harry disagreed. "Take another look around you, Hermione. I know that you've spent the last couple of months in a school for magic, which sort of skews your perspective, but does anything stand out as _odd_ to you?"

Hermione stared at him, and then took another look at the TARDIS console, with it's complicated controls, and the screens that showed scrolling data in nothing but Gallifreyan.

She looked back at Harry.

"I'm an alien, Hermione. A Time Lord, to be exact. The last Time Lord in all existence. And I'm telling you this because you're my friend, and I trust you."

There were a lot of humans who would have been running by now, but Hermione just swallowed, and stood her ground.

"How?" she asked in a quiet voice. "How can you possibly be an _alien?_ You're _Harry Potter_, for goodness' sake."

"It's a long story," Harry told her gently. "Would you like to hear it?"

* * *

"That's an incredible tale, Harry," Hermione said later, when he'd finally finished telling her about how he had become a Time Lord, and explained why he was currently at Hogwarts. "It's a little difficult to believe."

The two of them were ensconced in one of the TARDIS kitchens, the cheerful yellow one that Rose had always seemed to prefer. Harry had chosen it deliberately, as the closest thing to a 20th century Earth kitchen, in the hope that it would prove reassuring in its normalcy.

Harry sent Hermione a sideways glance, where she sat with a cup of hot cocoa in her hands, looking pensive.

"_Do_ you believe it?" he asked, homing in on the pertinent question.

Hermione hesitated, but slowly nodded.

"It seems too fantastic for words, but… yes, I do. I believe you."

Harry smiled, and sipped at his own cocoa.

"But you must know so much!" Hermione said, sounding enthused at the idea. "If your people were advanced as you say they were, and you have the memories of a man who travelled the universe for centuries, there must be so much you can teach me."

"Um." Harry winced. "Er, not so much. Ah, first of all, I'm not really the teachery type, second, there's nowhere near enough time to teach you everything I know, and third… well, I'm a Time Lord, with a Time Lord brain, and bluntly, you're not. You do have a brilliant human brain, believe me I know, but it's not the same. You're simply not equipped to handle most of my knowledge."

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Try me."

Harry was trying to formulate some kind of convincing reply to this challenge when all of a sudden he felt his robes vibrating. It took him a moment to realise that it had to be his mobile phone. Relieved at the reprieve, he felt around in his pockets until he found the phone, pulled it out and flipped it open, putting it to his ear.

"This is the Doctor."

There was a pause on the other end.

"_Doctor?_" a familiar voice asked unsurely.

Harry felt a wide smile take over his face.

"Dr Martha Jones!" he exclaimed happily. "Or wait, it's Mrs Smith now, isn't it? Oh, it's good to hear from you!"

"What _is_ that?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"A mobile phone from the future," Harry told her. "Give me a minute."

"_Doctor? Is that really you?_" Martha asked. "_You sound like a kid._"

"Oh, you know," Harry said vaguely. "Regenerations. Never know how I'm going to end up. But tell me Martha, nice though it is to get a call from you, I have the feeling it isn't for social reasons."

"_Yeah_." There was a moment of silence from Martha. "_Look, it's – Mickey and I work freelance now, yeah? Well, someone hired us to look into something, and well, it's possible that we might be out of our depth. We thought we'd better call you, just in case._"

"Right," Harry sighed. Here he was, having dealt with a crying best friend and defeated a troll in one day, and it looked like he might be about to head off on another adventure – it was a very good thing he didn't need as much sleep as a human would, because it didn't look he was getting some any time soon. "I'll be there soon."

"_Thank you, Doctor_," Martha said, heartfelt, and Harry hung up.

"Right," he said to Hermione, "as I was saying, this is a phone from the future, and _that_ was a call from someone who needs some help with something that looks like it might be within my particular area of expertise. So, I'm going to drop you off back up at the school, and we can talk about this some more when I get back. In the meantime, you should get some sleep."

Hermione stared indignantly.

"You're just going to leave me _behind?_"

"Yes, yes I am," Harry said gravely, and leaned forward to meet her gaze, trying to impress the seriousness of the situation on her. "Hermione, I regularly deal with… well, situations someone your age shouldn't be dealing with, and I'm not going to risk exposing you to something beyond your ability to handle. Besides, I promised Professor Dumbledore I wouldn't endanger you again."

"But–" Hermione began to argue.

"_No_," Harry said, definitively. "Think about the troll today, remember how scary that was? That's barely a blip on my radar, Hermione, a troll is _nothing_, a troll is a nice little diversion from the monotony of my day. Do you understand? The things that I deal with on a regular basis are far, far more frightening than that, and so much more dangerous, which is why you are staying _here_." He stood. "Now come on, I'll leave you just outside the portrait hole."

Hermione followed him back to the console room reluctantly.

"You're not an adult, either," she said righteously, sounding very put-out with him.

"No," Harry agreed easily. "But I'm a non-adult Time Lord, which is a very different thing from a non-adult human, I'm more than three times your age, and I have a lot of experience in this sort of thing."

He flipped a few switches, and the TARDIS made the short jump from the grounds to the inside of the castle. As soon as she'd stopped, Harry walked over and opened one of the TARDIS doors.

"Go on," he told Hermione, tilting his head towards the open doorway. "I'll see you tomorrow. Promise."

Hermione looked like she was going to argue some more, but instead she just sighed.

"Very well, tomorrow then. Good night, Harry. Don't do anything stupid."

Harry grinned at her as she left the TARDIS.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he called after her quietly, and shut the TARDIS door. Glancing down at his wizardly school robes, he decided that a quick stop by his bedroom was in order, to change back into his usual attire, and then he'd go find out what had Martha and Mickey concerned.

He couldn't wait.


End file.
